


The strangest luck

by ladyofpyke



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-02
Updated: 2012-12-02
Packaged: 2017-11-20 02:24:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/580244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyofpyke/pseuds/ladyofpyke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(post ADWD) Theon is about to get executed by Stannis Baratheon, when Ramsay's men attack. Asha seizes the chance to escape with him - but for how long?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Escape

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my native language, so I'm sorry for all grammar/vocabulary mistakes you might encounter *cough*

'Sometimes I have the strangest luck', Theon thought, when the horn was blown and chaos went lose in their camp.  
Suddenly no one cared for Theon's execution, not even oh so accurate Stannis Baratheon. Men yelled, swords crashed, arrows flew through the air - and Theon still kneeled on the floor. Waiting for the sword to cut his head off.  
But it wouldn't come.  
Instead Asha dragged him to his feet. "No one pays us any attention. Now is the only chance."  
He blinked. "For what?" His voice was hoarse.  
She shook her head. "Can you run?" She grabbed his left hand and for a moment her face got still. He saw the pity in her eyes - and hated it. "Can you walk?"  
He wobbled a few steps forward and almost fell to the ground. His bare feet were numb.  
She dragged him, stumbling. "It will do, somehow it will."  
Qarl the Maid, who had accompanied her to the execution, rolled his eyes. "Asha, leave him."  
She pulled Theon close. He felt strangely warm. "He is my brother."  
"He is already dead." Still he walked over to Theon and with not the slightest sign of effort, lifted him up and held him like a little kid. "You owe me", he said to Asha, not Theon.  
Shame washed over Theon's face, but he was already to weak to complain. And what good did complaining him ever do?

They struggled through the wood, while the horns got louder and the shouting fewer. He heard the barking of dogs.  
Theon tasted bile and almost frantically he pulled on Qarl's arm. "We have to separate."  
"Separate?" The man laughed. "He really _is_ crazy."  
 _Reek, reek, it rhymes with freak._  
Theon shook his head. "You don't understand. He is close. He will find us."  
Qarl walked on, ignoring him and slowly catching up with Asha. "More reason, not to leave her alone."  
"Not her, me." Theon whispered.  
The man froze. "You really want to die."  
"Yes." He almost smiled. "But I won't. He won't let me. Never."  
"Hurry up!", Asha yelled and the fear in her voice was piercing through the air.  
Theon saw here in the edge of his vision. "We have to separate. His bitches can only follow one trace." 'Mine', was the part he didn't say aloud. "Our chances are higher, if we separate."  
He felt her cold fingers on his cheek. "But you cannot go alone."  
"But I can hide." He tried to cast a bright smile at her, but it didn't have the encouraging effect he had hoped for. Instead tears brimmed in her strong eyes. "If he finds me, he won't search for you. Please. I don't want him to hurt you."  
She stumbled a step back and nodded. "Take care."  
Qarl set him back on the floor.  
"Don't let him take you alive. Never."  
A dog howled.  
Qarl grabbed Asha's hand and pulled her into the thicket.  
Theon was alone. He didn't try to run and just sat down on the snowy ground. 'Perhaps, if he is angry enough, he'll beat me dead in rage.'  
He looked up, when one of Ramsay's bitches - Grey Jeyne! - dashed down the small path. And with a jumped crashed against Theon's chest. He tumbled over, looking up into the dark feral eyes. Fearing an angry snarl and sharp teeth.  
But she was lolling at him, licking his face, wagging her tale.  
He only noticed, that Ramsay had arrived, when a shout and a rough kick sent Grey Jeyne flying. "Ungrateful, useless bitch", he snarled and then looked down to Theon. His eyes seemed to glow in the dark.  
"Well, your Jeyne likes me better than you", Theon whispers the words, wishing for them to sting. Hoped, that the curl of his lips even looked half like a smirk. Hoped to see soaring anger in Ramsay's eyes.  
He never found out, since Ramsay's boot hit his head so hard, everything went black in an instant.


	2. Flying away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Usually I wouldn't post chapters so short (or twice in a day) - but thekrakensonions asked very nicely for a sequel and I could not disobey ;-)  
> Enjoy!

When Theon awoke he was lying next to the hearth in Ramsay's room. The flames were flickering high, licking at the black stone.

"You're awake?", Ramsay whispered behind him.

He felt a strange hot pain on his shoulder, smelled burning fresh. He winced away, glancing up to Ramsay. The tip of the fire iron was gleaming red.

"Where is my bride?"

"Safe."

The fire iron flung down, stroking over his chest. Leaving dark scars.

Theon held his breath.

"Where. Is. My. Bride. Reek?"

"My name is Theon.", he whispered in defiance.

A slap hit him straight through the face. "A few days away and you start to misbehave." He took Theon's hand into his, let his finger trace over the stumps. "Was all this for nothing? Lucky for you, you still have a few fingers left, my dear Reek."

Theon trembled. He wouldn't, wouldn't let Ramsay take his name away again. "I'm not your Reek."

Ramsay howled and grabbed Theon's chin. "You'll regret this." Slowly, all too slowly he led the fire iron trace over Theon's chest, down over his stomach.

Theon pressed his lips together. He wouldn't cry out, he wouldn't. But he couldn't keep his shoulders from trembling.

"Where is my bride, _Reek_?" He pulled the iron away.

Theon gasped for air. He felt tears stinging in his eyes. He was surprised, that still some were left.

Jeyne should be safe by now - but if Ramsay would be so rash to attack the wall? But he couldn't be so rash, could he? Oh, by the old gods, of course he could. And would. And if he really had defeated Stannis, would there be any place for Jeyne to be really safe? But she should have a chance … after all they went through. "Bravos.", he rasped. "That is, where you'll find _Lady Arya_."

Ramsay looked at him for a very long moment. "Bravos it is? And why?"

Theon licked his lips. "There was a Bravosi banker at the camp. He took her with him, my lord. Stannis thought, there is no save place for Lady Arya in the Seven Kingdoms." That was only half a lie.

Ramsay dropped the fire iron, walked the short distance to the window. "They can't have made it to an harbor yet. Not in this weather." He turned to the door. "If you have lied to me, I'll cut out your tongue."

"Yes, my lord."

Ramsay paused a moment in the doorway. "Don't talk like a prince, Reek. That might cost you another finger."

Theon hesitated. As long as I don't forget again … "Yes, m'lord."

The doors slammed shut and he heard a latch fall in place.

Theon sighed and rolled onto his back. He wouldn't get out of here again.

No one would come to rescue him. No one, except for … He looked over to the window.

"I'll fly away - to a place, where he can never catch me." He smiled.

* * *

It took him years, or so it felt, pushing himself up on his feet, ignoring the burning pain on his chest, the blood trickling down. He held onto the wall, slowly placed one foot ahead of the other.

Cold wind washed over his face, when he reached the windowsill. He slowly leaned over, looked down to the snow below. Trampled down by a dozen feet, it wouldn't be a soft fall - and after all, it shouldn't.

He pushed himself up onto the windowsill.

At last he would die, as Theon.

He leaned over.

"What are you thinking you're doing!?" Ramsay's voice teared through the silence.

Theon looked back to the doorway. Ramsay's face was blotchy in rage. _No._ He pushed himself back, over the edge. For a moment a fell, then something grabbed his leg, and he came to a sudden halt. _No, no, no._

Ramsay had taken hold of his ankle, the fingers clawed into his skin. The look in Ramsay's eyes was probably the closest it ever got to _worried_. He was leaning far over the windowsill, beads of sweat on his face. And he clung to Theon's ankle, as if his own life was depending on it. "Oh don't you. Don't you dare! Your life is mine. Mine alone."

Theon started to laugh. "No, it is not." And then he wriggled and kicked, as strong as he could. Sighed of relief, when the grip got loser and he heard Ramsay cursing.

And then the boy took him by surprise: Instead of giving up, letting him go, he leaned out a bit more, lunged forward, to capture Theon's kicking leg.

_What a dumb move._

When he grabbed for the leg, Ramsay lost his balance. His eyes got wider, when he - slowly at first - slid out of the window. In falling, he caught Theon around the shoulder.

Then they hit the ground.

* * *

'Sometimes I have the strangest luck.'

That's what Theon thought, when he realized, that it wasn't his blood, that soaked through his ragged clothes. In a sick way, it smelled of iron.

He tried to sit up, pressed his elbow into something slimy and slipped down. He blinked and saw Ramsay's face next to his. Still and half crashed to the floor. Pale next to the white snow.

And more than his face was crashed.

Theon noted with a shock, that Ramsay's blood and his bowels were red. Not rotten black from the inside, as Theon always thought they were.

"What a nice surprise." With his last strength, he cuddled up against his warm, wet pillow. Theon giggled, leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss on Ramsay's fleshy, dead lips. "Farewell, my Lord of Winterfell."


End file.
